


You're A Sky Full Of Stars

by notparticularly



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Gender, Mutual Pining, Ost-in-Edhil, Second Age, Stargazing, and am now thoroughly invested in this pairing, galadriel has a chronic need to meddle, i had so much fun writing this, i was not explicit in text but i encourage trans interpretations!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29078850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notparticularly/pseuds/notparticularly
Summary: Celebrimbor opened one opalescent eye. "Cast me in marble, why don't you. The image would last longer"----Two souls, and the stars above them.
Relationships: Celebrimbor | Telperinquar/Narvi, F!Celebrimbor | Telperinquar/F!Narvi
Comments: 11
Kudos: 12
Collections: 2021 My Slashy Valentine





	You're A Sky Full Of Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rogercat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rogercat/gifts).



> Title is from Coldplay. Yes, I know.
> 
> Thank you to Rogercat for such a wonderful prompt. I am thoroughly on this ship now & for always!
> 
> Not beta'd because I left it to the last minute. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> I am active on tumblr at mallornin.tumblr.com if anyone wants to say hi :) 
> 
> Comments and feedback greatly appreciated as this is only my second (published) Tolkien fic!

“You Elves,” Narvi despaired, “All style, no substance. Were this Dwarf-work, we wouldn’t have to worry about a little drop of seawater.” 

She was peering intently through a magnifying glass, a masterwork of Celebrimbor’s father, brought from Nargothrond and, before that, over the sea from Aman. From where Celebrimbor stood Narvi’s rich brown eye seemed five times its usual size, flecked with gold. Feeling a flush creep up her neck - from the wry insult, she was sure, and nothing else - she returned her gaze to the object of Narvi’s attention. The shipment had come from Mithlond, stamped with the seal of the High King, initially addressed to Celebrimbor’s aunt. It contained, among other sundries, several well-packed artifacts recovered in recent diving expeditions off the coast of what had once been Thargelion.

The seat of Celebrimbor’s favourite uncle, the land around Thargelion had mostly been swallowed by the encroaching seas, although the fortress itself had remained in ruins above the waves. It was fitting that the piece had arrived today, for Celebrimbor thought more often of her uncle Caranthir in recent weeks than she had in decades. 

Specifically, she thought of his inability to hide any strong emotion from his face, for he would go red from the base of his neck to the tips of his long ears at the slightest provocation. In these past few weeks, Celebrimbor felt she could sympathise.

On the workbench between herself and Narvi was a large fragment of what they guessed had once been an acropodium, one of many commissioned by Celebrimbor’s uncle during his long friendship with the Dwarves of Belegost, and gifted far and wide, generally in return for some service or another. The silvered granite block showed signs of later inscription by a different craftsman, but the words were eroded beyond legibility.

“The problem is the intricacy of your Tengwar,” continued Narvi, who loved to ascribe all of the Eldar’s inadequacies onto Celebrimbor herself, “Not at all distinct from a distance, for one, and secondly the forms are mightily difficult - nay! Enough of your laughter! I said difficult, not impossible, you great lump - perhaps I should say not simple to carve into stone, as opposed to the far superior-”

“Ai, not this again! I have heard quite enough of your treatise on how stone is spiritually disposed to straight, angular lines,” Celebrimbor retorted, but she was smiling. It was an old, oft-retrodden argument between them, sparked from a very persuasive but very biased essay Narvi had published upon her entry to the Gwaith-i-Mírdain. “Let us stop here, my friend, for my concentration is waning and my hunger growing. It is a lovely day today, what say we abandon this, for now at least, and set out in search of some lunch?”

Narvi shrugged, smiling. “You’re a sleekit one, Kel. Mayhaps you’ve heard my own stomach grumble this past minute, and leapt on it as an excuse to exit this disagreement with your great pride intact!” Her eyes were sparkling, though, and as she spoke her own stomach growled once more. Celebrimbor smiled. The Gwaith had never been accused of attentiveness to their bodily urges. She knew it must be well-past time for the midday meal.

“Indeed,” she responded wryly, “I have similar motivations for all the meals I take. In any case, I have thought of a way we might have a more accurate impression of this inscription. But I shan’t tell you unless you accompany me for a meal this instant.”

Narvi had already shrugged on a waistcoat over her working tunic, and was bustling towards the door. “I’ll wager I know your plan already, but I’ll deign to endure your company, if only to scandalise your Lord Uncle.”

“The Lord Celeborn is no uncle of mine!” Celebrimbor called after her, affronted.

“Ach, you’re all each others’ uncles and aunts, when you get down to it. Too few of you, with memories too long.”

Celebrimbor gaped after her - she could not even begin to refute that statement without confusing herself. Certainly, she’d managed to avoid becoming anyone’s aunt so far, though she was beginning to see that this was a unique position.

The workshops in this section of the city were kept dimly lit by intention, for many of the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm were used to the dark underground forges of their home and, in the spirit of friendship and continued collaboration, Celebrimbor had successfully petitioned for accommodations, much to the dismay of her aunt’s rather prejudiced Sindar husband. In truth she preferred these workshops herself, as did most of the Eldar. Celeborn, she thought, was opposed to it more out of spite than anything else. Even after thousands of years, Arien’s noon-light was a shock to eyes long-adjusted to the comforting, dim glow of the Trees.

Or - indeed - to no light at all, save the stars.

Part of her wished she’d chosen the awakening at Cuiviénen as her current subject of study. It was fascinating. To think - there were yet Elves in Middle Earth who had awoken upon those shores! The architecture of Beleriand, while enticing, did not hold the same enchantment - it was cliche, she knew, and Narvi would mock her for it. But her entire species was founded on the love of the heavens, heavens which Elbereth set in the sky to light their way. She filed a mental note to write to Círdan, and tucked it away into a box in her mind marked ‘further study’.

When she looked up, Narvi was smiling at her. The Dwarf had a peculiar, crooked smile that made Celebrimbor want to grin right back. “Lost you for a moment, girl,” Narvi said. “Were you thinking of far off places and times long past, I wonder? Or were you thinking of our impending lunch?”

Celebrimbor’s stomach took this opportunity to rumble heartily.

“Lunch then!” Narvi huffed a laugh and peered out of the tiny arched window by the workshop door, “Though I should warn you, your blasted Sun has burned off all of this morning’s lovely cloud!”

Celebrimbor, without thinking, made to take a parasol from the basket by the door, to shade Narvi’s passage across the sunlit courtyard to the shaded eatery beyond. Turning back, parasol in hand, she saw Narvi looking up at her with a peculiar expression on her face, ringed fingers twisting the end of her braided beard. Their eyes met, shining grey to warm, liquid brown, and caught there as though magnetised.

Feeling her face flush pink, Celebrimbor opened her mouth to make a joke about Dwarves and their delicate sensibilities, but still with that strange look upon her face Narvi put one hand on Celebrimbor’s arm.

“Thank you,” said the Dwarf, simply, and Celebrimbor‘s treacherous heart leapt in her breast.

\-------------

The day was hot, and the sun bright, but the eatery was shaded by a pergola strung with golden, dripping laburnum. A playful breeze cooled the air in the shade and rustled the golden blossoms, releasing their sweet, heady scent into the air above them.

It was cooler than the courtyard, certainly. But Narvi was raised in the deliciously damp, pleasantly gloomy halls beneath kind Zirakzigil, and she thought she would never get used to the oppressively wide open spaces of the upside, even in this secluded corner. Up and out - in this strange place the air moved uncannily of its own accord, the sky loomed above, and when she’d first stepped outwith her home she’d been convinced she’d fall up and away into the yawning blue. Even now, years later, an ambassador for her people and Celebrimbor’s respected peer, being above ground unsettled her.

In fact, this was the longest she’d gone without a visit home. She had felt no desire to return to her caves and plant her bare feet on solid stone for some time, caught up as she was in the excitement of ongion study. But she had begun to feel strange, lately. Perhaps it was stonesickness.

Yes, that must be it. Nothing more. She pushed thoughts of strong, broad hands on the handle of a delicate yellow parasol away, to the back of her mind, and focused on the fare in front of her. The day was too hot and close for anything substantial, and so they picked at tart green olives and sweet dates, dark bread and an especially fine nutty cheese imported from Tharbad.

At Narvi’s suggestion, they’d both ordered refreshingly cool, frothing tankards of Dwarven pale ale, and now Celebrimbor reclined lazily on the bench, her brown face turned blissfully towards the sun. Narvi took a long, slow drink, and suddenly could not tear her eyes away from the Elf. She thought, selfishly, to trap those long brown legs and broad shoulders in stone to keep and look at forever, just like this.

Celebrimbor opened one opalescent eye. “Cast me in marble, why don’t you. The image would last longer.” Narvi, startled, cast her gaze aside. She knew little of Elf-craft, save for what the scholars in the Gwaith discussed. Had Celebrimbor read her thoughts? The thought was furiously embarrassing, and Narvi felt her face grow red and hot. If she had heard that, then-

“Relax,” said the Elf, sitting up to take a deep drink of her own tankard, “I am well aware of my own perfection, I’m sure you can’t help yourself!” She was smiling, mischievous and kind, and the tension broke like the surface of a pool.

“Bloody Elves,” Narvi grumbled, glaring. “You’d Mahal put you on Arda as a gift to the rest of us!”

She made a show of putting her feet up on the table and her hands behind her head, and closed her own eyes, heart racing. Her moustaches, however, twitched in abject embarrassment, a feeling she had seldom known before joining the Gwaith, but recently had become all too common when she spent time with Celebrimbor. Her strong stomach tied itself in knots during moments that should have been - had always been - easy between them.

Eyes closed and trying to enjoy the hot weather, Narvi could nevertheless feel her friend’s pale, luminous eyes upon her. Her mind wandered again to those broad shoulders, to well-muscled calves, to strong hands at her waist, at her neck, at her--

“Right!” Narvi exclaimed, springing up as though she were years younger, “I declare that’s enough relaxation for us. We’d best get on if we want to get your top secret charcoal rubbing trick over and done with before you’ve got to be away for your appointment this eve!”

The appointment in question was no appointment at all, and Narvi knew it. Drinking with Celebrimbor’s beloved aunt Galadriel was a monthly standing reservation, and she knew that if her friend was still preoccupied by scholarly ideas instead of very delicious gossip, the Lady would not be best pleased.

Celebrimbor put her hands on her shapely hips in annoyance. “Ai! Is there to be no secrets between us? How did you divine my ingenious charcoal-related plan?”

No secrets, indeed. “It is merely the logical progression of thought, my young apprentice,” she grinned, and grabbing the parasol from under the table set off at a determined march across the courtyard towards the workshop.

“Young, is it? I’ll have you know-”

“Aye, come back to me when you’ve a beard as luxurious as mine, Elfling.”

\-------

Celebrimbor was not drunk.

She was just a little unsteady on her feet. And she had decided to chalk this fact up to lack of substantial food and the warm weather. And perhaps the drink. A little.

But only a little, mind.

It had been a good day, the kind she loved: productive work, beautiful weather, laughter and effortless collaboration with Narvi, and an evening of more laughter and setting the world to rights with Galadriel, whose wit and peculiarities never failed to cheer her up. She reminded Celebrimbor more and more of her brother, the man she’d never dared to call Atar, though she’d so wanted to, though she felt as always a great chasm between the feeling and the ability to talk of said feeling.

Ai, she should have stuck to Dwarven ale. She and Galadriel had sampled some new imported wines from Lindon, and wine never failed to make her overly introspective.

Introspection was something Celebrimbor had tried to avoid, of late, for fear of reaching a conclusion she did not know how to navigate.

Unbidden, her head swam with images of huge, liquid brown eyes. She thought of soft, gruff chuckles, and of infinite, assured competence, of her name spoken in a wonderful burr, shortened even, transformed by the accent to something no longer Noldor, something altogether new and beautiful. She thought of hammers swinging and muscles tensing, and, and, and-

Celebrimbor shook her head to banish that particular line of thought.

Galadriel had said something to her tonight, amidst a long, winding tale about her time in Doriath. Her aunt had said something, and she wished she could remember exactly what. It was there, at the tip of her ears, just out of reach. 

Ah. There it was.  
“Seize the day, is what I suppose I mean,” she’d said, “For we would still be there now, skirting around each other, under the great sea and oblivious, were it not for some very insightful prodding on Melian’s part!”

It had been about her long courtship of Celeborn, then. Celebrimbor couldn’t understand why it had weighed on her, so. Her father had once said that he got phrases, or snatches of phrases, stuck in his head like others got songs. Curufinwë, she’d been called, third of her name. She’d left the name behind long ago, but it lurked still, in her reflection, her mannerisms.

She sighed. That line of thought, too, would lead nowhere pleasant.

She was closer to her rooms at the University than her own estate, and so she headed there, threading through narrow, high-built streets. Her route took her past the great park in the University grounds, the edge lined with holly bushes, dark and quiet. Suddenly, she was not tired at all.

What harm could it do, a short walk in the warm night?

\--------

Narvi was an eternal insomniac. Her modest chambers at home were directly below one of the sector’s largest forges, and as a result she needed the eternal hammering and singing to ease her into sleep. When the world was quiet, her mind was loud, and this night it was louder. At evening meal in the University hall, the mood had been confrontational, and Narvi had avoided being dragged into any arguments with abject disinterest. As with every Elvish argument, it had finally gotten bitter enough to mention kinslayings, and Narvi found herself glad that Celebrimbor wasn’t here.

The topic was a sore one for her still. Celebrimbor had shared with Narvi her favourite aunt’s counsel, which was to stuff your fingers in your ears and pretend you hear nothing at all, or else sing a very rude song very loudly until whoever it was left you alone.

Funny to have a favourite aunt, when you have only one.

She had a way with words, Galadriel. Narvi liked her, though her husband was a different story. The Lord was very polite when he had occasion to address her kind, and that was the end of it. There was some history there, with Dwarves and him, but Narvi did not care to ask.

It was funny she was thinking of Galadriel, now. She’d run into the Elf by chance in the University’s great library several days ago. She was impossible to mistake, not with the way her hair shone like thread-spun mithril lit by candlelight. She was beautiful, too, in a distinctly Elvish way that made her seem as though Narvi was looking at her from the end of a telescope. All Elves were beautiful, of course, although this opinion was not universal amongst her own siblings, who all without fail complained of their height and their beardlessness and their insipid, lilting music.

Galadriel had been on an errand to submit a sheaf of letters - written by some long-dead Noldo lord, no doubt - to the copiers’ guild, when she’d spotted Narvi and waved, beckoning her over.

“I am glad to have encountered you here, Narvi, for I have a favour to ask of you, if you would?” She had begun, earnestly, “I have encountered a gap in my knowledge, you see, and you are perfectly placed to aid me in my understanding, if you have the time.”

In the way of Elves, especially the older ones, the Lady had gone on like this for quite some time. At the end of it, Narvi had come away with a slim volume on the Noldor customs regarding love, betrothal and marriage, and had left a promise to write a brief summary of differences between those and the traditions of Khazad-dûm.

Perhaps she should have set herself to work on that text tonight, if only to lull herself to sleep, but instead she’d taken herself for a walk in the University grounds. In the dark and the cool it was easy to forget the grand scale of the upside, to forget the wide, unforgiving sky above. Her feet felt more secure on the ground, even on nights like this when the moon shone bright. Tilion, Celebrimbor called it, and said it ran across the sky forever, chasing its love. 

Ach, these Elves.

The thick copse of tall, bristling hollies at this end of the park lent a comfortingly solid weight to the darkness. Here, the sky did not feel so much like an abyss, but more like the fabric-draped ceilings of homes and cafeterias in Khazad-dûm. Strange, for a wide open space to remind her so much of home.

She was still contemplating this when she emerged from the bushes and spotted a familiar figure, feet dangling into the river from the carved stone bridge. The night was liquid with moonlight and Celebrimbor, who was so often on her thoughts, made a striking figure. Narvi again thought of sculpture, of permanence.

Hearing her approach, the Elf turned, and Narvi was suddenly fixed in place by her luminous eyes, silver in the night. Narvi felt her mouth go dry. She was beautiful, lit up in the night, the way Elves were made to be seen. She might have remained that way until her feet grew roots had not Celebrimbor broken the spell. The Elf blinked once, and shook her head.

“What brings you out here at this time, my friend?” she called, beckoning with one hand, “I was hoping I’d finally achieve some peace and quiet!”

Narvi stilled, feeling an awful twist in the pit of her stomach. “Oh,” she said, “I’m sorry, I’ll leave you to your thoughts, I didn’t mean-”

Celebrimbor’s face grew serious. “Oh no, it was a jest, I--!” Slipping from her perch, she reached Narvi in two short strides and, hesitating for only a brief moment, collapsed Narvi’s small hands in her own. “An ill-timed jest. I was in fact very pleased to see you here. I was thinking of you not a moment ago.”

Narvi felt Celebrimbor’s gaze but did not meet it, her face burning. Celebrimbor swept her broad thumbs softly across the back of Narvi’s hands and they lingered there, frozen, until Celebrimbor sighed softly. Narvi let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.

“Will you sit with me?” The tall Elf asked, and what was that in her voice? Uncertainty? Narvi could not pinpoint it. Suddenly she felt as though she were teetering on the edge of a chasm. One small breath would be enough to send her plummeting to the depths below. What lay there, she could not say, nor what lay behind.

And so they sat, arms touching, backs against the smooth stone wall of the bridge. The silence was comfortable between them, and Celebrimbor’s eyes were turned towards the stars. Her grey eyes gleamed.

“What is it you see, when you look at them?” Narvi asked her.

Celebrimbor glanced down at her then, something gentle in her gaze. “History. And safety. And the knowledge that they will be up there long after we are gone from this world.”

“A comforting thought?”

“To me, yes. That assured permanence. The absurd scale of it all. In my family I think we need to be humbled every now and then.”

“Only every now and then?”

For a moment Narvi worried she had ruined the moment, and then Celebrimbor smiled softly. Narvi felt large hands take her own again, and Celebrimbor turned to face her.

“When I look at the stars I see all of what I told you. But chiefly I see a demonstration of unconditional love. Elbereth loved us so much she lit the sky with jewels so we could look upon each other, and find common ground with one another, and through that we became more than what we were. And the beauty of it,” she cleared her throat, “The beauty of it all - is that it wasn’t an isolated incident. Under those same stars Durin founded Khazad-dûm, and Men emerged from the East… What I mean to say, I suppose, is that we keep on finding that common ground, again and again. That love is reflected in all of us.”

Celebrimbor looked again at the wide expanse of sky above them. And then biting her lip she looked back at Narvi, expression grave. “I must confess something to you now, Narvi, and I hope beyond all hope that this will not change the way you think of me.”

For once, Narvi could not speak. She could not breathe. She felt her hand move, almost of its own accord, to rest on Celebrimbor’s cheek. And Celebrimbor’s eyelids fluttered as she leaned into the contact, her eyelashes brushing against Narvi’s fingers. The delicate touch sent a shiver down Narvi’s spine.  
Narvi rose onto her knees so that their heads were at the same height, moving as though she were in a dream. Perhaps this was a dream, or a cruel joke. But no, Celebrimbor’s broad hand was at her waist, Celebrimbor was pressing her soft mouth to Narvi’s palm. Every nerve ending in her body was on fire. The air seemed charged as though lightning were about to strike.

Narvi brought her face closer to Celebrimbor’s and rested their foreheads together. It was a cultural thing, an expression of ultimate trust. She knew Celebrimbor would understand. The Elf’s skin was warm. At every point of contact, a fire spread between them, and threads of warmth began to coalesce in Narvi’s belly. Her heart beat faster and faster as every long second grew between them. The smiths at the forge in her chest hammered with increasing urgency.

“I know, Kel,” she said gruffly, and found that she did know, and had known for a long time.

The stars seemed to grow in brightness even as Narvi’s eyes closed and Celebrimbor pulled them together, and then they were kissing, and they were clinging to one another, breath coming in gasps, and one of them was laughing or crying or both.

Above them the stars wheeled, and silent Tilion continued onwards on his slow march towards the horizon.


End file.
